


Accidental Voyeur

by Syrum



Series: Not Entirely Accidental [1]
Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Exhibitionism, Fingerfucking, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve manages to get himself locked in the security room of Avengers tower, and finds out a few things about his team mates that he didn't know, and also a little bit of something about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidental Voyeur

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know, sorry. I love this pairing, m'kay?

He hadn’t intended on entering the room, the one that was always locked. The door itself was inconspicuous enough, nothing particularly special about it, just another door at the end of another corridor in the first-level basement of the tower. There were plenty of rooms that had remained unexplored since the Avengers had moved in there, all much of a muchness, just rooms. Sometimes with piles of boxes full of who knows what, other times entirely empty. None had ever been locked, though. Except this one.

They had each, on separate occasions and for entirely different reasons, tried the door, but none had been able to gain access to the mystery room.

Until that point. Until Steve, upon looking for a mop to clean up the latest mess resulting in yet another team argument, stumbled upon the impenetrable door and found it unlatched, a crumpled piece of paper stopping it from closing fully. Puzzled, and filled with more curiosity than was perhaps good for him, he pushed the heavy expanse of metal, the door making no sound as it swung open. Within, he found himself faced with row after row of monitors, hundreds of them, each viewing a different portion of the tower, monitoring them, recording their every movement. Stepping into the room, movement on one of the screens catching his attention, Steve did not hear the slight whoosh of air, or the click of a lock as the door latched itself shut behind him.

It is said that curiosity killed the cat. Steve was not, typically, that curious of a person; he knew his place, took the orders given to him without question and, in his down time, mostly kept to himself, the goings on of others seldom being of any interest. That is why, upon finding that one of the cameras feeding into one of the monitors was pointing rather directly into the shower of one Clint Barton - who was in the process of showering, and was most certainly not alone - that he decided enough was enough and that it was time to leave.

Fate, however, had seemingly conspired against him. The door had no handle on the inside, and no amount of prying would convince it to open, even with the superhuman strength he possessed. Flush from the embarrassment of witnessing one of his team mates in such a compromising position long since faded, Steve stared at the number pad mounted on the wall, willing it to somehow give him the answer to the combination and set him free. Alas, it did nothing of the sort, and after a while of standing and waiting for someone - anyone - to unlock the room, lamenting his lack of mobile phone, Steve decided to sit upon the single high-backed computer chair in the room and watch the monitors for a while. To pass the time, of course, nothing more.

Clint and his mystery guest had - thankfully - vacated the shower, Clint instead taking up residence in one of the two shared kitchens, sipping at a mug of what was likely coffee, speaking animatedly with Thor about something. Every so often, the Asgardian would laugh long and loud, and while the sound was strangely absent, it took little imagination to recall the sound. As much as Steve respected the man, god-like powers and all, Thor had started to grate on him a little over the recent months. He had no real reason to dislike the thunder god, but wherever Steve was, Thor almost always seemed to be only a couple of paces behind, and he had no idea why. At dinner, Thor would single him out for conversation. After the occasional movie night that they both attended, Thor would wish to speak at length about the film. For whatever reason, Thor seemed to want to spend as much time with Steve, talking to Steve, as was humanly possible. It was a conundrum, and one that Steve wasn’t sure he would solve any time soon.

Natasha was meditating, sitting unmoving in the main living area of her assigned quarters. The image might well have been a photograph, if not for the occasional rise and fall of her chest. She was lovely to look upon, as always, and Steve’s hands itched for a pencil so that he might sketch her static form, a combination of sharp lines and curves, all power and beauty rolled into the perfect assassin. He knew better than to get on her bad side, lest he find himself on her hit list; even Steve Rogers knew not to mess with the Black Widow.

A blur to his left caught his eye, stopping on the monitor for Tony’s room. Pietro glanced around, almost too quickly to see, before swiping something off the desk and disappearing from the screen. Scanning the rest of the monitors, Steve quickly found him again, back in his own room and unwrapping something small, a pleased grin upon his face. The speedster popped whatever he had stolen into his mouth and bit down on it, the grin growing ever wider as he chewed on his pilfered treat, clearly enjoying whatever it had been. It was unlikely that Tony would miss whatever had been taken, and likely had two dozen more stashed away, so Steve could not find it in himself to taddle on the twin, not considering that it was the first true smile he had seen on the speedster’s face since their fateful meeting all those months ago.

Stark was in his workshop, as always, Banner accompanying him and the pair working in close quarters on something that looked suspiciously like a metal rubik’s cube. As he watched, Tony leaned in to murmur something in the scientist’s ear, closer than strictly necessary considering their solitude, causing Bruce to flush slightly. Ah, so that’s how it was? Steve smirked slightly to himself and turned his attention elsewhere, not wishing to pry.

Wanda, she was always an interesting one; since the quieter of the twins had joined their number, she tended to keep mostly to herself, honing her abilities in solitude rather than seeking out the company of others. She spent more time with her brother than anyone and yet, in recent months, she had found his company to be tolerable. Steve supposed it was due to his own quiet nature, and she had not minded at all when he asked if he might be allowed to sketch her as she practised. She was a sweet girl, and he hoped she would in time come to trust the others as she had him.

At that point, she had sat herself upon one of the large, over-stuffed arm chairs that had come from who knows where, watching something on the entirely too large television in the sitting room on the fourth floor. He could not see what she was watching, but the Witch was clearly enthralled, leaning forward slightly in her seat.

Loki was the next one to catch his attention; the thunder god’s younger brother, former enemy of the Avengers, had failed in his attempt to dominate the planet. When the younger Odinson had come to them, broken and bleeding, Thor had wasted not a second before gathering his wounded brother into his arms, and demanding that only the best doctors be sent for to treat him. The trickster god had recovered swiftly, his heritage and his magic giving him an edge over even Thor, but had not been allowed to leave the tower since then.

Fury had wanted Loki contained. The method of containment hadn’t mattered much to him so, much to the dismay of the council, he had placed the suspected threat to the Earth under the protection of the Avengers. Loki hadn’t seemed to mind, he seemed pleased enough to be allowed to stay near Thor, the close brotherly bond that they had once shared near enough shattered by the Tesseract cube. They were rebuilding, slowly, but the wounds were still fresh and both needed time to heal, apart as well as together.

So Loki had been given one of the larger suites, modified to include heavy security, including his own entertainment centre and a small kitchen. He was allowed, under armed supervision, to visit the communal areas once or twice a week, though only for brief periods. It would take a long time before the world could trust Loki, and Fury was taking no chances.

The younger Odinson had clearly just stepped from the shower, hair plastered back against his head and skin damp, a short towel wrapped around his waist and leaving so little to the imagination that Steve found himself wondering why the man bothered with it at all. Loki was slender in build, a direct contrast to the solid mass that was his brother, though there was strength in those arms and in that chest. Coulson had once remarked that they were like night and day, the sun and the mood, and Steve could only agree.

It seemed that, whoever had fitted out the security in the tower, had added rather a lot of extra cameras to the suite Loki had been given, though whether that was done before or after it was decided the rooms would be his he did not know. Stepping through into his bedroom, door kicked shut behind him, Loki allowed the towel to drop, leaving him exposed, in all of his glory. Some part of his mind screamed at him to look away, look _anywhere_ else but at those monitors, but Steve knew he wasn’t likely to get another chance to study the form of the god so closely again, unfettered by clothes.

Loki stretched his arms out above his head, pulling all the muscles in his back and stomach taut in a show that felt all the more sinful for seeing it on three monitors at one time. Mouth slightly ajar, not realising he was staring, Steve could not remove his eyes as the dark-haired beauty arranged himself upon the fur throw he had been allowed for his bed, pillowing one arm behind his head, his right hand scratching at his stomach before starting to slowly move down, following the light trail of hair, the man near enough teasing himself. 

Steve knew, he _knew_ he had to stop watching, but yet he couldn’t. That delicate and yet strong hand descended further still, grasping at the rapidly-hardening shaft between Loki’s long, sinewy legs, which parted ever so slightly to give him more room to work. It took very little work for the god to bring himself to full hardness, licking his lips as he tugged gently at his cock, Steve’s own tongue flicking out to unconsciously mirror the motion.

The lack of sound meant that any noises Loki happened to be making were filled in by Steve’s own imagination, which was doing an exceedingly good job of filling in the blanks. He could imagine the little gasping moans, the hitches of breath and the high-pitched whines that the Asgardian must be producing; Loki would not be noisy in bed, not unless he _wanted_ to be heard, and Steve did not stop to question how he knew this.

After a short while, Loki’s hand stilled, cock still hard and twitching against his belly, ignored for a moment while the trickster god rummaged in one of his bedside drawers for something, finally producing a small pot of what appeared to be some sort of gel. Covering his fingers in the stuff, both hands slick and shimmering with the pot itself left open on the bedside table for ease of access, Loki went back to tugging and pulling at his neglected shaft, left hand this time, the increased sensation of the lubricant on his fingers clearly doing a great deal for the dark-haired beauty, as his head fell back against the pillows, mouth open in a long moan of pleasure, knees falling open to reveal milky white inner thighs.

Taking a moment to compose himself, the hand on his cock slowing, Loki slid his right hand down between his legs, one finger playing at his tight, puckered opening for several long, aching moments, before sliding in. The reaction was instant; he arched up on the bed, moaning in wild abandon, mouth open and gasping as lidded eyes seemed to stare directly at the camera. The motion, the sight of it, was enough to send a shockwave of need through Steve; he needed, he _wanted_ , and he could not stop his own hand from pressing against the solid bulge in his jeans, a small whimper of desire slipping from between parted lips.

Steve could only watch as a second finger joined the first, wishing more than anything that he could be crouched between those long legs, pleasuring the god himself, pressing into that tight, willing body and taking him until Loki could do little more than cry his name. 

He was uncertain as to when exactly his hand had unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock free, but it must have been somewhere between the second and third fingers, watching Loki writhe in ecstasy upon the bed as those slender fingers were thrust in and out of his entrance, body pushing back against them, desiring more. The hand upon his cock, now glistening with precum to mix with the lubricant, was pumping harder and faster, clearly on the edge, ready to topple over at any moment.

With his own orgasm fast approaching, Steve gripped harder, matching the pace of the man on the screen. Loosing a low whine of Loki’s name, Steve spilled over his own hand, milky droplets splashing over his jeans and the tiled flooring as he shuddered his release. He looked up again just in time to see Loki follow suit, his whole body shuddering its release, mouth forming something Steve could not here but that could have possibly have been his name.

Steve’s heart seemed to still in his chest; surely he had been imagining things? Why would Loki have screamed his name? As his pleasure-hazed mind scrambled to return to reality, he realised that it was impossible; he never had been overly good at lip reading, his mind was simply giving him what he wanted to see. The disappointment was palpable, but he knew he had to simply move on and forget that any of it had ever happened, not that his own abject mortification would allow him to do so any time soon.

Turning, looking for something to clean himself off with, Steve was surprised to find the door slightly ajar, with no sign as to who had opened it. A faulty lock, perhaps? He cared little at that point, quickly tucking himself away and dashing from the room after sloppily cleaning the mess on the floor with the hem of his shirt; he needed to shower and change, before anyone else saw the mess he was in and he had to explain himself.

The next time their paths crossed, Steve had just returned from a reasonably easy mission with Natasha and Wanda. Loki had been allowed out of his rooms to spend some time with his brother and, as Steve walked into the kitchen, their eyes had met. Loki’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips as he smirked and Steve knew, in that instant; Loki had known, had somehow seen that he was watching, and had continued anyway.

Or, perhaps, had continued _because_ he was watching.

Either way, Steve fled, beet-red and with a bulge in his pants that had not been quite so pronounced mere moments before, Loki's bubble of amused laughter ringing in his ears.


End file.
